Done Dirt Cheap

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Jason sat in the main room, still shirtless, computer open in his lap and the TV on. A blanket and pillow were laid out on the couch. She was glad to see it, but her throat ached with longing to slide into his lap, push her head into his chest, and cry in his arms.

  “There should be hot water left,” she said.

  “Good.” He didn’t look up from the computer. “There’s some food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

  Food turned out to be a plate and napkin set on the table with a couple of slices of buttered bread, a can of cheap beer, and a thick hunk of pan-fried venison. She sat down and started eating, gaze flickering to Jason as he stayed focused on the computer. “What are you working on?”

  “School.”

  She startled. “Huh?”

  He lifted a heavy book she hadn’t seen. The light from the TV reflected on the cover, but she couldn’t make out the title.

  “Pharmacology,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “I’m in nursing school,” he said, putting the book back.

  She stared at her plate, head spinning as if she were turning for Hazard. Shoving another bite into her mouth, she forced herself not to look back at Jason. It was hard to tell whether she hated him, or whether this information gave her hope that she’d eventually make it.

  “I’m getting a shower.” He put down the computer and stood, hiking up his jeans. “Put whatever you want on the TV.”

  She finished eating in silence, listening to the water hit the shower walls. Putting her plate in the sink, she glanced down the hall, at the light coming out from under the door. The water turned off.

  Virginia stared down the hall, mind blank.

  NASCAR droned on the TV. Eventually, she forced herself to sit on the couch. It’d look weird if Jason came out of the shower to see her frozen in place. She tucked the pillow under her arm and tried to look as if she belonged, but the night was thin, and deep down she was worth nothing and had no place anywhere, not even on Jason’s couch. And here he’d made her bed.

  The wind had died down outside, but the rain pattered on the windows and the roof. The only other sounds were the dull drone of racing and commentators.

  Jason came back in the room, in shorts and with wet hair, smelling like damp skin and soap. The blue cast of the television reflected off his bare skin. Off the scars and tattoos.

  Did he put my old man down? She didn’t need to know, but she wanted to know. Needed to know he would tell her. She swallowed and looked away. “Nursing school, huh?”

  “Can’t just be a drunk forever.” He opened a beer and settled back into the chair.

  “Oh, but you’re so gifted in that area.”

  He chuckled and opened the computer back up. “You planning on school?”

  She looked to the TV. “We’ll see.”

  It was quiet. The TV flickered with a crash replay and engines revved.

  “I saw you at the Covington Walmart once,” she said, keeping her eyes on the circling cars. “When I was seventeen. You made me feel like I was just like all the other girls.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

  She smiled, still looking at the screen while her stomach tightened with nervousness. “You made me feel seventeen and like I didn’t know a thing in the world, not the least of which was my name or anything that had happened to me. And then you made me irritated because you didn’t notice me at all.” She laughed softly. That memory summed up their entire relationship, still.

  “I was probably fucked up. If you think I didn’t notice you. What was I doing?”

  “Buying Oreos.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I was definitely fucked up.”

  “I like you that way, Jason.” She looked at him now. “I like that it’s this front you work hard to make people believe.”

  He gave a short, bitter laugh.

  She raised her eyebrow slightly. “I think I almost love you more for it.”

  His expression froze, strangled and frightened. He opened his mouth but then closed it and looked back to the computer. “You need to find someone different to love.”

  “I know . . .” But she couldn’t keep going. What if she ruined any life she might have by bringing the dead back? “I know, but then again, maybe you don’t have to work so hard with me. Maybe I love you because I don’t have to work so hard with you.”

  He pinched his lips and clicked on something. “I didn’t remember you until that day at Tourmaline’s, when you ducked like I was about to hit you. I met you a long time ago, and you did the same thing, even though you didn’t know me. You just happened to be walking behind me.”

  “He was a rough and rowdy man,” she said, keeping her voice clean of emotion, though her stomach rolled with it.

  Jason looked straight at her then, clear understanding on his face. “No, honey,” he said softly, his voice low and smooth and right. “I’m a rough and rowdy man. Your old man was just an evil sumbitch who liked to hit things smaller than him.”

  She rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the rest that was calling her. “Did you do it?”

  “It wasn’t like we didn’t warn him.” He sounded nervous. “He had chances. He was offered grace. He was offered a way out. But he didn’t want any of those things. When evil is beyond itself in a person there’s nothing left but to put it down.”

  “That was him,” she said. “Did you do it?”

  “I didn’t. But I knew it was done. And . . .” He shook his head, mouth tightening into a thin line.

  “And you’ve done it since,” she finished for him. “That’s what you all do. After the court runs and the charity fund-raising rides and past all the girls and the alcohol and shit everyone likes to talk about a lot more than hurt kids or women, there you are. You watch at the edges of everything and intervene when no one else will.”

  Jason looked at her, something different in his expression—more open, less guarded, something nearing vulnerable. “I always felt like I could do just about anything as long as I knew it was the right thing to do. But I’m afraid, when I close my eyes at night—”

  “On the floor?” Virginia interrupted. “Next to your mattress?”

  He closed his eyes. Smiled. Tried to stop smiling. Smiled again. “On the floor.” He swallowed, eyes still closed in the reflected light. “I’m afraid that instead of putting down abusers, I’ve only taken fathers. Instead of making places for goodness and grace, I’ve only made space for a different shade of darkness to slip in. That everything I’ve done, is just. Nothing.”

  Never had Virginia wanted to take him in her hands as she did then. But she only swallowed and clutched the pillow. “Y’all couldn’t save me.”

  “I see that now.”

  “But you gave me a chance. You and Tourmaline. And each time the effort is made, I feel like maybe, someday, I might actually find my way out.”

  He gave a soft chuckle-sigh, as if he didn’t want to be comforted.

  “I’m afraid.” The words felt clumsy and awful, where the brush of her hand, or her mouth on his, could have said more. “For you.”

  “About what?”

  “That you’ll finally find the way to stop breathing.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “I need you to keep breathing. I need you to make me more venison and . . .” She forced herself to act on what she knew instead of what she felt. “I need you . . .” To love me back, to not love anyone else. But she couldn’t finish, and she stared at him with all of it unsaid, hoping he could read her mind.

  He was silent for a moment. “I’m breathing. I’m here.”

  Her eyes felt heavy, but she didn’t notice she had fallen asleep until Jason gently shook her shoulder. Virginia jolted awake, panicking until she remembered where she was and how she got there.

  Jason didn’t seem to notice, or he pretended he didn’t. “I’m going to bed. Want the blanket?”

  After the fo
od and the little bit of sleep, feeling warm and clean inside his soft T-shirt, Virginia was also feeling more like herself. More like she had space in this world instead of being just a wet shadow that showed up on doorsteps when she wasn’t wanted. Bringing her arms up, she sleepily pulled on his shoulders.

  Even in her sleep, she noticed it didn’t take much for him to sigh and drop down beside her. They moved around for a minute, arranging themselves as if they’d done this before. He folded the pillow under his arm and she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. Until they both came to rest, her body tucked along his. Instantly, something inside her relaxed.

  “God almighty this is dumb,” he whispered, as if to himself. But he chuckled and shook his head, pulling her tighter. As if it were much easier, for both of them, to breathe, as long as they did it together. “I’m not really a blanket,” Jason said, fingers warm and rough as he smoothed the hair away from her temple. “I’ll just finish watching the race.” He said it as if to himself.

  She tucked her face deep into the crook of his arm and breathed the fresh smell of soap on his skin and the hard life of the couch beneath them. She was going to make herself a home here.

  The storms brought no relief for southern Virginia in late July. And the next day dawned with steam rising off the roads and rocks.

  Tourmaline picked Virginia up on time, with the morning thrushes and not many words. They mowed wet grass until it clumped on their sneakers and stuck to their legs. In silence, they loaded the trailers, switched trucks, and parked down below the road, off in the brush.

  On foot, the climb took hours.

  The day was sizzling—bringing a heavy blanket of cornflower-blue haze over the mountains and under the dappled canopy of trees and thickets. Sweat poured down Tourmaline’s back and off her face, until she thought there couldn’t be any more sweat left in her body. But she didn’t waver, and her steps stayed an even, relaxed pace on the rocky incline.

  This had to be done. Even if Wayne caught them (he couldn’t), or it didn’t work (it would), she had to try. She had to ignore those doubts and at least take a first step.

  But the higher they went, the more aware she became of a second step always behind hers and a second breath always between her own.

  “Why don’t you stay down here?” Tourmaline asked Virginia when they stopped for water. “I can finish this myself. You’ve brought me far enough.”

  Virginia just screwed the cap back on the bottle and shook her head. Hauling her backpack over her shoulder, she moved on.

  It was one thing for Virginia to help get her to this point, but another thing entirely for her to go any farther when they were so close to Wayne and the risk of getting caught. It would turn ugly instantly if Wayne so much as heard one of their breaths. Tourmaline caught up. “Listen. Virginia . . .”

  Virginia shook her head again, put her finger to her mouth, and sped up.

  Tourmaline was still trying to figure out how to get Virginia to wait behind, when she sighted the cabin. Pulling Virginia’s elbow, she brought them down into the brush.

  “Where?” Virginia whispered.

  Tourmaline pointed. “You have to let me do this alone.”

  “Oh, stop. I’ve got a stake in this, too, don’t forget.” Virginia hauled off the backpack and dug through it, pulling out two sets of latex gloves they’d taken from Tourmaline’s father’s stash in the garage.

  “You said you would help. You’ve helped.”

  Virginia unwrapped the T-shirt and held out the .38.

  Tourmaline suddenly panicked as she pulled on the gloves. “Shit. Did we even check if it was loaded?”

  Virginia blinked.

  Tourmaline’s stomach seized tight and she held her breath and opened the cylinder. Loaded. Four rounds.

  “Oh, thank God,” Virginia whispered. “Hopefully Hazard’s prints are in there.”

  “We are dumb,” Tourmaline muttered, pushing the cylinder in. She grimaced and then shook it off, trying not to let the momentary panic linger or take a hold in her body as an omen. It didn’t mean anything. It’d been fine.

  “It’s okay. It worked out.” Virginia sank back on her heels. “You ready?”

  Tourmaline straightened and met her gaze. “I want you to leave.”

  “No. We agreed to do this together.”

  “You’ve done enough. I don’t want you to risk getting caught.”

  “Then just tell yourself I’m here to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

  “I’m not going to screw it up,” Tourmaline whispered, eyes narrowed.

  “You’re going to. Without me. Now, are you ready or are we just going to argue all day?”

  Tourmaline gritted her teeth and frowned. “Yes. Fine. I’m ready.”

  “You sure?”

  Tourmaline met her eyes and nodded.

  Virginia flinched and took a deep breath. Her gaze flickered from the cabin to Tourmaline and then she frowned and leaned closer. She sighed and frowned at the house. “You should let me do it.”

  They could not be having this argument right now. “Nope,” Tourmaline said firmly. “If I don’t take care of this, someone else will. Someone will take my fate.”

  Virginia crossed her arms. “I get that.” She nodded jerkily, lip trembling. “I get that.”

  “What is there left to do instead?” Tourmaline whispered. “I have nothing. Nothing to do to save myself.”

  “I’ll take this,” Virginia whispered smoothly, taking the gun back and sticking it in her shorts. “And you’re going to give him something he wants more than revenge.”

  His freedom. Freedom was what they all wanted. It was far riskier than setting him up, but it was the only thing to do—offer Wayne his freedom. To promise the Wardens wouldn’t touch him if he left her alone—something Tourmaline suddenly realized Wayne had no guarantee of. We will take care of him. Wayne had known. He’d hidden in the bushes under the bridge at the sound of a motorcycle, not because of the cop. He’d been hunted and cornered, and his fear twisted with his desire for revenge. He was a piece of shit, but he was a piece of shit Tourmaline would always have to remember, even if he went back to prison. Especially if she sent him back to prison.

  Tourmaline flinched and ducked her chin. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and the air smelled like chemicals and shit and decaying leaves. Her stomach churned and threatened to rise in her throat. She didn’t want to offer Wayne safety. It was a risk. It could change. What if he didn’t want freedom more than he wanted to kill her? What if he came back? Those were risks she didn’t want to live with.

  But Virginia was right. This history was something she could never be rid of. Wayne would always be part of who she was and who she’d become. Even if she killed him, she wouldn’t be freeing herself from that. And that was what she truly wanted.

  Not to be free of this place.

  But to have never been here to begin with.

  Tourmaline nodded.

  Virginia squeezed her hand. “Your fate cannot be taken. No one else can change it but you. It’s a gift.”

  Tourmaline rolled her eyes. “You got my six?”

  “Like no one ever has.”

  Carefully, they made their way toward the stick house.

  The trees stood still. The bugs droned in the midday heat. Tourmaline’s hands were sweaty. The cabin stayed fixed in her sight.

  Looking up, she found Virginia standing motionless beside a thick oak tree.

  Tourmaline nodded. Her heart thumped so hard she was afraid it was vibrating in her hands, but she carefully stepped up the porch stairs. The cabin door was ajar. Had it been like that the whole time? Behind her, she heard the soft click of Virginia rechecking the barrel. Her breath quickened. Her heart thumped.

  The porch squeaked under her shoes, but nothing in the cabin moved. The door still ajar, a sliver of absolute black.

  The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She swallowed. Gently, she nudged the door open.

&nbs
p; The door hit something soft and heavy.

  Tourmaline screamed. She bounded off the porch, still screaming. Panicking. She hadn’t needed to go farther to know what that weight was. What that sick, soft heaviness was. She shivered a scream again, needing out of the woods, out of this moment.

  Virginia was at the door.

  And only when Tourmaline realized that Virginia had run inside did she manage to stop screaming, gulp great drafts of air, and run after her.

  “V, get out of there,” Tourmaline whimpered, sticking her head in and breathing through her mouth. She hadn’t noticed a smell, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “Did you see him?” Virginia said quietly. “Come in. We’ll go in a second.”

  Tourmaline hadn’t. She didn’t want to. But she knew she should—to know for certain instead of feeling in her gut. She slipped through the narrow opening the body allowed, and looked down, already dizzy from shallow mouth-breathing.

  It took her a while.

  Seconds of staring. Trying. Blinking. To organize what she was looking at. To realize.

  Half his face was gone. The bullet had gone in small, but exploded a massive hole on exit. Tourmaline’s stomach turned endlessly, loose and sick at the sight of gray matter and blackened, drying blood and white bone. Only one eye was left, staring unseeing at the dark rafters of the cabin and the circling flies. Instantly she remembered that eye glittering with rage under a streetlight in Roanoke. That eye fixed on her with silent fury under the bathroom lights at putt-putt. That eye as he came for her with intent in the hazy river sunset. She sobbed and squeezed her eyes shut, relieved it was done and relieved she’d not had to watch this happen under her hands: to do this to a person. Her mouth and nose filled with the smell of burned cat inside a burned carpet, a smell that was so familiar—and also something else, that tasted like metallic despair. Turning, she went back out to the porch.

  The ridgeline fell the same way as it had before, and the trees remained on guard, and in that golden dazzling underbrush hiding the cabin so well, Tourmaline sat on the steps and cried.

  After a minute, Virginia’s hand slid up and down her back, soothing her as her shoulder shook. “He was cutting Hazard’s dope in there. The heroin. I left the gun, like we planned. Just in case.”